by N. C. Reed
“What are you laughing at?” Leon demanded. “You 'll wish you had as much female attention when you get my age!”
“I just hope I make it to your age,” Clay told him honestly as he got in behind the wheel. “Buckle up.”
“I will not,” Leon said firmly. “I ain't never wore a seat belt and I will not be dictated to or lectured about it now. If I want to wear it I will, and if I don't, then I won't. Right now I don't.”
“All right,” Clay sighed. With the truck in gear he checked his mirrors and then pulled out of the parking lot, crossing the road onto the ramp that would take them north to Nashville, Tennessee.
-
The trip actually went fairly quickly with someone to talk to. Clay had long become accustomed to being alone, or at least to having to be silent, so talk while moving was a novelty to him anymore.
Leon at times had him in stitches and at other times in shock as he learned to what extent his 'grandpa' was, or actually wasn't, retired.
“I tried to be retired, mind you,” the Old Man confided. “Figured I could sit back and rest a mite, enjoy you kids, aggravate your father, that kind of thing. I hadn't no more than got settled til things started going to hell in a shopping cart though, and I had to do something or lose it all.”
“If you were retired then how would-” Clay started to ask.
“I worked too hard to make Calhoun County a decent place to let someone like Beldon Pepper try and mold it into his own little kingdom,” Leon told him flatly. “If it weren't for me keeping him in check, there's no telling what things would be like now. In addition to that, two shiners sold a load of rotgut that damned near killed two dozen people. I won't have that, boy. You want to make whiskey in Calhoun, I'm fine with that so long as I get my cut. But you make it right or you don't make it at all. Had to stop that kind of thing before it got out of hand.”
“Makes sense,” Clay could actually see what Leon was saying. “You're pretty slick Pa,” he complimented. “I had no idea.”
“Very few do, and them as do know not to say nothing,” Leon nodded. “My introducing you to Marla this morning was also a way of letting others know that you're now my claims adjuster, so to speak. Before we can get back home she 'll have made sure everybody that needs to know, knows that when you say something, you're talking for me. Mind you,” he turned a withering gaze on Clay, “I usually manage to do my own talking.”
“Yeah, I've noted that,” Clay chuckled. “What is it you expect me to do, anyway?” Clay asked.
“Be quiet, look tough, and if anyone gets out of line, kick their ass,” Leon's reply was simple. “I assume that mess at the diner wasn't an accident or luck,” he raised an eyebrow.
“No, it wasn't, unless it was just bad luck that I had to be there,” Clay assured him.
“Outstanding,” Leon nodded. “Take me here,” he held out a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it. Clay put the address into his GPS and began to navigate them that way. Soon they were sitting before a less than reputable looking warehouse in the south side of Nashville.
“Remember,” Leon said before opening the door. “I talk, you look. This man is supposed to be moving merchandise for me and people who look to me for help. Only he ain't delivered my money of late. Owes me a good bit and I aim to get it. Today. You're gonna make sure I do.”
“Okay,” Clay nodded. He followed the old man into the building, closing his eyes three seconds before he stepped inside. When he opened them, his eyes weren't as badly addled by the dark conditions inside as he removed his sun glasses.
There was a small office to the left of the door, but otherwise the huge building was just row after row of shelving. He saw a forklift moving about half-way down the aisle he could see, crossing by with a load of boxes.
Then Leon was moving to the office, leaning on his cane only slightly. He opened the door without knocking and walked inside unannounced.
“Who are-” the man behind the desk looked up in anger, then saw who it was. Clay was treated to the man's face going from anger to shock to fear in the span of maybe two seconds.
“Hello Carl,” Leon didn't sound at all friendly.
“L-Leon,” 'Carl' almost stammered. “Had no idea you'd be up this way!” he tried to sound friendly.
“That wasn't an accident,” Leon assured him. “We seem to have a problem, Carl,” he went on conversationally, taking a seat across from the other man without being asked. Clay moved to stand behind him. Carl's eyes tracked on both of them all the way.
“Problem?” Carl tried to look surprised by failed badly. “What would that be, Leon?”
“You owe me a good bit of money, Carl,” Leon said flatly. “Money I paid out for stuff you're making money on here. We've had a good arrangement for a long time and it would. . .pain me,” Leon stressed the words, “to think that arrangement was coming to an end.”
“An end?” Carl sounded shocked. “Oh, goodness no, Leon!” he exclaimed as if hurt. “No, I would never even consider-”
“Good,” Leon cut him off. “About that money?”
“Well, you see, Leon,” Carl started to sweat. “The thing is, had I known you were on your way up here then I could have had it ready, but-”
“Carl,” Leon leaned forward. “You owe me for a lot more than just product. You wouldn't be in business here right now without me. Now I don't aim to ask you again; where's my money?”
Before Carl could answer his door burst open and two burly men wearing hardhats walked in.
“You wanted to see us, boss?” one asked. Somehow 'Carl' had signaled his helpers.
“Yes, Frankie, I did,” Carl leaned back, smiling comfortably now. “Mister Sanders was just leaving. Would you mind showing him out?”
'Frankie' made a move for Leon's small frame while the other moved to brace Clay.
“So, what's it gonna be Cowb-” he began, but that was as far as he got.
Clay's boot crashed into his own opponent's groin with a terrible thud and the man froze, unable to move for a moment until the pain finally made its way to the brain. At which point he howled in agony and fell to the ground.
Before that had happened, Clay had reached across himself with his left hand to intercept the hand reaching for Leon. Grasping Frankie's wrist, Clay jerked the arm back sharply against the natural motion of an elbow, the outside of Clay's right forearm smashing into the back of said elbow. The accompanying crack of disintegrating bone and cartilage was enough to make a weak man blanch and Carl was fairly weak.
Screaming in pain, Frankie with the ruined elbow was powerless to defend himself as Clay's right hand rose high, curled into a fist with the fingers extended and crashed into his temple, putting the man out like a light. Clay took a step over to the howling victim of his crotch kick and took him by the hair, slamming his head into the floor and silencing him as well. That done he closed the door to the office and returned to his spot behind Leon's chair.
All without having said a word. Or losing his hat.
Leon hadn't moved in all that time, but simply sat smiling at Carl as his grandson took out the trash. Now, he finally moved a bit, shifting his staff to his other side as he crossed his legs at the ankle.
“Now about my money, Carl,” he said simply.
“S-s-sure, Leon, sure,” Carl nodded. “I g-g-g-got it. It's all here,” he turned to the safe behind him. Leon waited until Carl was ready to actually open the safe before he spoke again.
“Carl, don't make me kill you by pulling a gun out of there,” he said softly. Carl froze slightly, but then nodded. Clay slid a hand beneath his coat and waited, but when 'Carl' turned, he had only money.
A lot of money.
“Well, Carl, I'm disappointed,” Leon sighed as he looked at the bills, ensuring they were good. “We had a good thing going for a long time. Everyone making good money I thought, everyone doing good business. And you had to ruin it.” Satisfied that the money was good and more or less correct, Leon deposited it
into his bag, closing it up.
“This makes us quits, Carl,” Leon declared as he stood, using his staff to help him get to his feet. “You won't be getting any more shine from us. Or anything else. And if I hear that you've mentioned my name or even breathed it in your sleep, I'll have to have someone pay you a visit about that. You won't make me do that, will you Carl?” he asked calmly.
“Quits?” Carl stammered. “Now Leon, lets don't be hasty over a little misunderstanding-”
“Will I have to send someone to see you Carl?” Leon cut him off gently and Carl paled.
“No, Leon,” Carl shook his head. “That won't be necessary.”
“Good,” Leon nodded. “And Carl? Don't be sending anyone down my way trying to make a deal outside me, understand? That would cause me great pain and distress. I don't like to be pained or distressed. We clear?”
“We're clear, Leon,” Carl nodded, looking at his two unconscious employees.
“Glad we understand one another,” Leon started for the door. “And you ever try to have me manhandled again, Carl, and I'll kill you,” he said casually over his shoulder, never slowing. Clay watched the man until they were out, and then over their backs until they were out of the building.
The two went to the truck and were inside, back on the road before Clay realized that Leon was laughing.
“What's so funny?” Clay asked.
“You are, boy,” Leon was shaking his head. “Not a hair out of place! Took those two down and ain't even breathing hard. I couldn't have trained you to do that no better. Ol' Carl 'll be having nightmares about this for weeks!”
“Glad I could help out,” Clay snorted. “What was that all about, anyway?”
“Carl used to distribute whiskey for me and some associates,” Leon told him. “Last two months he seemed to decide that since I was so old and frail he didn't have to pay me. Slapped around the man I sent up here to ask about it and sent him home in rough shape. He had to pay for that.”
“Good job,” he told Clay. “Now you know where most of my money is coming from these days,” he added with a chuckle. “Pure grade corn liquor. Trouble is that things is a lot worse than they used to be and it's harder to get honest folks to work for you.”
“Yeah, I'd say honest crooks are in short supply,” Clay snorted.
“We ain't crooks,” Leon sniffed. “We make a quality product and we expect to get paid for it. We ain't cheating nobody outta nothing.”
“You need to scare anyone else?” Clay asked.
“Nah, this will do the trick,” Leon assured him. “I do need to make one more stop, howsoever.”
-
“'The Kitty Kat Klub',” Clay read the sign. “All Ks, too. Cute,” he said dryly.
“Man's gotta have a gimmick to get noticed,” Leon nodded. “Around back,” he ordered. Clay drove to the rear and parked along the outside of the lot.
“Could you get any further from the door?” Leon groused as he got out.
“Close as I can get with the trailer,” Clay reminded him.
“Oh,” Leon looked back at the trailer. “Forgot about that, actually. C'mon,” he nodded for the back door. Clay noted Leon had a limp now but didn't call attention to it.
“They let you in the back door here?” Clay asked.
“They let me in any door I want in,” Leon told him. “I own this place.”
“What?” Clay was stunned.
“Close your mouth boy, you're drawing flies,” Leon ordered as he rang the buzzer. He waited all of two seconds before pressing it again. Clay heard a bolt throw and then the door opened.
“What do-oh,” the man at the door cut himself off when he saw Leon. “Hello, Mister Sanders,” he smiled, stepping back to allow Leon and Clay to enter. The man was roughly as tall as Clay, and was about that wide as well. Clay wasn't sure he'd ever seen a bigger man that wasn't fat. He hated to imagine trying to fight the man.
“Boy, this is Brick. Brick, this is Clay, my grandson,” Leon introduced.
“Nice to meet you,” the two said at the same time. Brick laughed. Clay didn't, but he did smile.
“Harper here?” Leon demanded.
“She's in the upstairs office, sir,” Brick nodded.
“Of course, she is,” Leon sighed. “C'mon boy,” he muttered.
“What's wrong now?”
“Stairs,” the old man shook his head. “Bane of old age, boy. Stairs.”
-
Lainie Harper looked up from reading a financial paper as the door to her office opened. She wasn't alarmed as few people could get past Brick without major problems. When she saw who it was she smiled brightly, one of the few genuine smiles she would probably give out today.
“Leon!” she almost squealed as she ran to hug the old man. “You old cutie, what are you doing-oh,” she broke off suddenly as Clay followed Leon into the room and her breath caught. Clay caught sight of her at about the same time and his reaction was similar, though he hid it from everyone but Leon.
“And who is this?” Lainie finally managed to murmur.
“Lainie Harper, my grandson, Clayton,” Leon made introductions as he made his way over to the sofa and sat down. “Clay, this is Lainie Harper. She manages this place. Cute too,” he added.
“I can see that,” Clay said without thinking, something he never did. Lainie could feel herself blushing and turned so that Clay wouldn't see it.
For his part, Clay was examining Lainie Harper. Tall and well made, her flame red hair ran down to the middle of her back, pulled into a single pony tail at the moment. Her clothes were form fitting and he noted that she looked as good going as she did coming.
“What brings you by, Leon?” she asked to cover herself. “Not that I'm not always glad to see you, ‘cause I am,” she smiled again. “How have you been?”
“I'm old and I hurt darlin',” Leon smiled tiredly. “Right now, I need some lunch and a nap. And me and the bo-Clay, need a place to stay tonight that won't be on the record so to speak,” he told her. “And a place to store a truck and trailer inside.”
“Can put it where the RV goes,” she shrugged. “It's in the shop and will be until Friday. Should fit okay. It is a pickup and trailer, right?” she asked suddenly and Leon nodded.
“Yeah, it should be okay then.”
“Boy, you go and do your business and then come on back,” Leon ordered tiredly. “I'ma take a nap. This morning has about wore me down to be honest. You know where you're going I assume.”
“I'm sure I can find it,” Clay said dryly. “Take it easy Old Man. I'll be back as soon as I can.” He looked at Lainie then.
“I assume you'll watch over him.” It was a statement rather than a question and she didn't miss that.
“I always have,” she nodded.
“Then I'll be back.” With that he left, heading down the stairs and out the way he had come.
“He's something,” she said aloud without thinking and heard Leon chuckle.
“Girl, you have no idea,” he promised her. “And I mean none. That boy makes me look like a piker.”
“He must really be something then,” she turned, walking back to be by his side. “What would you like to eat?” she asked gently.
“You know, I wouldn't mind a sack of Krystal burgers,” Leon said suddenly, surprising her. His urge came from somewhere he couldn't tell her about, but he wanted to have the old favorite one more time, just in case Clay was right. There wasn't one in Peabody. Leon had taken his late wife, Elizabeth, to Chattanooga once to eat in the very first Krystal ever. That had, however, been a very long time ago.
“I'll get it for you,” she smiled and gently kissed the old man's forehead. “Go to sleep, Leon. I'll wake you when I get back with your food.”
“Thank you darlin',” he murmured, stretching out on the comfortable sofa. “You're a fine girl.”
“That I am,” she whispered softly. Taking her keys and wallet, she pocketed her cell phone and made her way downstairs.
“Morning Miss Harper,” Brick said.
“Brick, Mister Leon is sleeping in the office upstairs,” she told the bouncer. “Please make sure he isn't disturbed. I'm going to get him some lunch and pick up some supplies he may need. Can I get you anything while I'm out? Have you had lunch?”
“No ma'am, I haven't,” the hulking bruiser admitted. “Where are you going?”
“Mister Leon wants Krystals, so that's where I'm going,” she smiled.
“Then I'll take a sack of Krystals,” Brick grinned.
“Will do.” She walked through the back area to a garage type area where her car sat. She hit a button to open the garage door and then climbed into the '69 Chevelle sitting there. The sound of mass horsepower filled the air as she fired the car up.
Soon she was speeding off on her errands, thinking about Leon. And his cowboy grandson.
-
“This is highly unusual, Mister...” the store owner looked at Clay expectantly.
“Smith,” Clay said straight faced. “Bill Smith. And I realize that, but I don't have a credit card, and if I did it likely wouldn't have enough to pay for this,” he indicated the load that was even now being carried on to his trailer.
“Yes, that is true, but. . .so large an amount of cash,” the man was shaking his head. “I'm sure you understand, but laws require-”
“You aren't a bank, and I told you up front when I placed the order it would be paid for in cash,” Clay's voice was cool. “If there was a problem, that was the time to tell me, not when I get here with the money.”
“Well, most people who say 'cash' mean they'll bring a cashier's check,” the man tried again.
“If I had meant cashier's check, then I would have said cashier's check,” Clay was becoming testy. At least now he knew where that came from. “Now are we going to have a problem or not?” he demanded and then tried not to wince at how much he sounded like Leon.
“Well, I just. . .I have to be able to explain all this money!” he exclaimed.
“You're a business,” Clay shrugged. “You had a very good day. What's to explain?”